


My Angel? Is The Centrefold

by kore_rising



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kore_rising/pseuds/kore_rising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ariadne had another career before she worked in mindcrime: Modelling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: NC-17 for nudity, swearing, guns,sex, croissants...the whole thing.  
> Pairing: Ariadne/Arthur  
> Notes/Warnings: For [this](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/11005.html?thread=22399997#t22399997) prompt at[](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[ **inception_kink**](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/) : Ariadne once posed nude for a low rent skin magazine to earn cash for college. Arthur finds the pictures during his research on her (or Eames finds it and shows him.) He is furious, possessive and aroused all at once. Then there is sex.  
> The characters, setting and story of Inception are the property of Christopher Nolan and no cash is being made from this story.

It was days like this that Arthur truly appreciated, even perhaps loved his job.

The workshop was quiet, aside from the sound of an occasional page turning, the click of keys on his keyboard or the faint clink of glassware from Yusuf's makeshift laboratory. Under his fingertips he had amassed a vast lode of data, the archives, databases and random information dumps of the world opening under his carefully designed search algorithms, flowing back to him with ease and simplicity. He could feel each link in their chain meshing together; the mark, the dream, the maze, the extraction, all fusing into a seamless whole.

Across the room from him Ariadne was humming softly as she placed the white cubes of her latest model on a base board. He smiled to himself as he watched her. Her careful movements intrigued him and always had, even before he had caved in to himself and kissed her. Her sharp mind and observant nature had made her an asset even before he considered her skill. Before he'd considered her dark loveliness shining out from under her resolutely boho wardrobe; even before he'd had taken her on the three dates they had managed so far and she'd opened herself up, little by little, to him. She had drawn his eye to her and kept it; as if he was a moth darting around her flame.

Arthur dragged his thoughts reluctantly from her and the spine tingling kisses they had shared and back to his work. He basked in the busy silence, bending over his notes with the satisfaction of someone who knows those around him are similarly engaged in achieving a common goal and working as calm, cooperative whole.

Which meant only one thing, his mind tweaked him for becoming complacent: Something was about to shatter it like a brick through a window.

The door banged open with a blast of cold air and Eames sauntered in.

 _Ah, right on cue._

He was dressed casually, in the way that only he could, and was looking like the cat who had got the cream and the canary and was now walking around proudly with feathers stuck to his whiskers. In his hand was a buff folder and catching sight of Arthur at his desk his grin broadened further. "Arthur!" He beamed and strolled up to the point man's desk, ignoring his short, sharp "You're late." Pulling up one of the many battered office chairs which littered the space he dumped himself down uninvited on the other side, pure unadulterated mischief twinkling in his eyes. "Arthur, I have a gift for you as one red blooded man to a...supposed other."  
"Does it have to do with work?" He barely glanced up.  
"Not unless my job description now includes 'getting you a life.'" He threw the folder onto the surface, disturbing the notes Arthur had spent the previous hour meticulously arranging. "I think you'll enjoy it," the forger propped his feet up on the table, folded his hands in his lap and raised his eyebrows, leaning forward to stage whisper "No need to thank me all at once. Go on, have a look."

Realising that there was no way to get rid of the annoyance that was Eames in this mood and get back to his previous state of efficient bliss other than to look in the file Arthur sighed and picked it up. Why on earth did Cobb tolerate him? Aside from being outrageously gifted at his work, the Englishman's major skill seemed to be getting under Arthur's skin and itching like a mosquito bite.

Flipping back the cover he found himself looking at a cheaply printed colour magazine. _**College Cuties!**_ the title blared in bright red, fifty point text. Underneath a winsome looking blonde sprawled naked on her side over a pale pink satin sheet, glasses perched on her nose and a copy of _A Brief History of Time_ clutched to her chest, preserving her scant modesty.

"Bringing me pornography? Very mature, Mr.Eames." Keeping his face neutral to hide his irritation he flicked the file shut again and made to throw it back in the other man's lap.  
"Now hold on. You just haven't looked at the relevant article yet."  
"This has articles? I hardly think this is the kind of publication that asked for Miss Cover Star's views on the philosophical implications of quantum physics when they took her picture." Arthur dangled the offending magazine between his finger and thumb, allowing the sarcasm to drip from his tone.  
"I admit, it isn't GQ. But nonetheless I think you'll be extraordinarily interested in the pages I've marked. I even used one of those post it book mark things of which you are so fond. Go on, humour me." He grinned again in a way Arthur found distinctly unsettling.

Setting the file back down he opened the plain covers again and sure enough a bright purple tab was sticking out of the side. "I was going to use blue. Like your b-"  
"Shut up." Arthur cut across him and carefully flipped the magazine open using the marker, avoiding whatever else lay on the smeary, untagged pages; things that he had no desire to see.

It fell neatly apart as if it had been in this position many times before. Damn Eames and his onanistic tendencies, Arthur swore, trust him to bring me something he's already had the dubious pleasure of using. He looked down, ready to spit out some acid retort about the other man's sexual proclivities, and he promptly forgot about his desire to castrate the forger in the hopes it would bring him under some kind of control. He forgot he was in the workshop. He forgot he was nearly thirty and a highly respected professional in the elite and shadowy world of extraction.  
He felt fourteen again, locked in his bedroom with the copy of _Penthouse_ he'd found behind the Simmond's garage, his body feeling like it was going to seize from the feeling of his hard on in his hand.

It was naked woman. A lovely, naked woman. And, he quite suddenly realised, a very familiar, lovely, naked woman. "Oh my..." he muttered to himself, the last word dying on his lips as the contents resolved itself properly under his gaze.

The photos spread out before him were of a beautiful, petite brunette. Her soft, shiny mouth ( _a mouth he wanted to bruise with kisses_ ) was in a smile that was slight but with a definite come hither air to it. Her chocolate coloured hair spilled over her shoulders in wonderfully dishevelled waves and her dark eyes were wide as if she'd just been caught doing something she shouldn't. Her skin was a delectable shade of cream that made him want to bend down and lick the page to see if it tasted as good as it looked. In one hand she held a strategically positioned blue print while the other lay on her cocked hip, the arch of her spine making her twist into an incredibly supple curve as she stood before the camera ( _God, would she arch like that in bed?_ He thought, almost before he could stop himself. _Her back thrusting her torso, her hips and her breasts out towards him as she sighed, moaned, gasped even screamed his name like a supplication?_ ) She was wearing white knee socks neatly pulled up into place and a pair of stupidly high heeled, shiny black shoes.

But, perhaps most incredible of all was that she was, socks, shoes and blueprint aside, stark naked. Her thighs wandered up in a gentle swell to finely boned hips ( _Oh, how would it be to be caught between those thighs, hip deep and rising_ ), a softly curved stomach, the most perfect inverted belly button, delicate ribs and small shoulders. He could imagine every muscle underneath that smooth skin ( _holding him, gripping him, overwhelming him_ ), the lines of her biceps, quadriceps and abdominals were there, adding to the overall wonder that was her body. And her breasts ( _perfect handfuls,_ _the perfect size for his palm to cup and his fingers to caress_ ) jutted proudly from her ribcage, tipped with crimson nipples ( _his mouth, his tongue, teasing them into stiff peaks while her hands ran through his hair_ ) almost the same colour as her lips.

 _  
_ ** _Ariadne_** , the caption shrieked, **_this is one architecture student we wouldn't mind planning our erections with!_**

"Enjoying yourself there, darling?" Eames drawled and Arthur felt himself flush hot with embarrassment. In his daze he'd also forgotten the other man was across the desk, watching his every move. "I saw it and I thought, seeing as it's a certain pocket Venus of both our acquaintance for whom you have a particularly soft spot," his eyebrows raised to indicate the spot in question might not now be as soft as it was before, "that you might appreciate a little more detail, a little more _specificity_ ," he curled the word cheekily off his tongue, "when you were enjoying a private moment imagining yourself in her company."

And it dawned on him, as suddenly as a smack in the face, a white wave of fury overpowering the lust coursing through him: _Other people_ had seen this. _Other men_ had seen and used this to-

He slapped the magazine shut, his fist closing over the thin paper.

"Did you do this?" He growled at Eames, the fury obvious on his face. "I swear, if you had anything, a single minute in front of Photoshop even, to do with this I am going to beat you to a bloody pulp and leave you for the street cleaners."  
"Calm yourself, Arthur." Eames' wide eyed glance swept around the room then back to him. "I swear on my mother's life that these are genuine. Look, it's over a year old. See?" He flicked the cover back and pointed to a smaller line of print giving the vague _Summer 2009_ as it's time of issue.  
"Where did you get it?"  
"They've got a website. Here," He reached across and turned the laptop Arthur had been using towards him. A few key strokes and clicks, then he turned the screen back, "See?"

 **College Cuties! Beautiful Babes with Brainz!** was scrawled across the header in a facsimile of chalk on a blackboard. A quick glance over the page of young women in poses ranging from the naughty to the lewd showed him all he needed to know to gauge the content beyond. "Look under _Babes- A to K_." Eames instructed, and there was a thumbnail, leading to a page and there she was, all over again, her deep brown eyes beckoning him as she smiled like the downfall of angels.

He shut the computer carefully, ignoring Eames' pointed look. His gaze fell instead on Ariadne, still quietly working on the far side of the workshop, her face intent and her long hair hanging down in tendrils as she bent over her model. As she moved, even with her body hidden under her jeans and shirt, his brain superimposed the images of her naked over the top, a shimmer of skin and soft lines, and no matter what he did they refused to stop burning inside his head. He bit his knuckle and welcomed the needle of pain as a distraction. What he wouldn't give for a shower in glacial melt water right now.

"Do you think she knows about this?" He said to Eames as he picked up the magazine again. His fury had evaporated, leaving just the pure flame of dispassionate anger.  
"The magazine? I expect so, after all it is definitely her. You can't just randomly say to a woman like Ariadne 'Here love, come into this studio, get your kit off and pose for these snaps, would you?' She'd kick you in the nuts then call the police. And no drug in the world would let her stand up in those shoes after she'd taken it. So my guess is she did it for the money." Arthur felt his jaw clench. "Student life is tough, or don't you remember the halcyon days of baked beans and pot noodle dinners?" Eames continued, "she must have had a damn good reason though. I can't image her doing it as anything less than a last resort."

"And the website? Do you think she knows about that?"  
The forger shook his head. "It's new, that's why I found it so quickly." Then coloured rapidly under Arthur's forensic level stare as he realised the sound of his words. Ignoring the embarrassment that might on any other day have brought him a grain of satisfaction, the point man tapped his fingers idly on the desk top. A website had to have a registered owner. Failing that the magazine had to have an office, no matter if it was simply a front, there was always a paper trail leading back to whoever had set up the rouse in the first place. And once he had that? The douche bag was his.

The smile that crept across his face with that thought must have alerted Eames, since quite out of the blue he said "Arthur, I know that look. Don't do anything without talking to her first. Don't saddle up your white horse and ride to her rescue unless you're sure she needs it, for goodness sake. I know you're fond of her but she isn't defenceless and she had to consent in the first place."

He looked across the room again to where she was frowning over the maze, her tongue between her teeth and a pencil tucked behind one ear. Defenceless? No. But that didn't mean he wanted to share her with the entire readership of _**College Cuties!**_ and every pimple faced teenage jerk off from here to Alaska who had one hand on his mouse on the other in his pants, and he certainly wasn't going to stand around while they could.

"Fine. I'll talk to her."

~*~

In the end he brought her a cup of coffee and a pastry.  Having spent some of the morning tracking _**College Cuties!**_ down to an address in Belgium and the rest turning over a number of conversational openers from the serious- _"Ariadne, it's come to my attention that you may have done some modelling in the past and I was wondering if you'd like to discuss it with me."_ \- to the casual- _"I was wondering, did you have any other jobs before this one? In art, perhaps? Or photography?"_ \- to the downright idiotic- _"Hey, I've seen you naked!"_ \- Arthur decided it might be easier, gentler, if he made her an offering before launching into such personal territory.

They were alone in the workshop when he came back from the cafe, for which he thanked various gods, spirits and higher powers. The last thing he needed right now was Eames and Yusuf snickering in the background as he groped ( _wrong word, god, so the wrong word_ ) around Ariadne's glamour past.

She was bent over her drawing board, thoroughly absorbed by her work as he approached her, so he cleared his throat to alert her to his presence. She sat up, saw him and her answering smile was broad and cheerful. "Hey Arthur," she beamed, "I've nearly done the last level. Did you want to go over the plans?"  
"No." Her eyebrows knotted in surprise. "I mean, later, yes. I,ah, noticed you didn't stop for lunch so I brought you something from the cafe down the street. You like their food, right?" He held the bag and paper cup out almost as if they were a shield.

"Thank you. That's kind." She accepted them, and made a small happy sound on seeing the cheese, ham and mushroom stuffed croissant when she opened the bag. "Wow, this is my favourite. Trust you to know that. Thank you. Would you..." she bit her lip shyly, titling her head to one side, her smile smaller but no less enchanting, "...would you like to share it?"

He hesitated. Would a mouthful of croissant crumbs be entirely conducive to delicate questions about how she had earned her keep? No. Did it look tasty, was he hungry and any excuse to sit next to her was a good one? Yes, a thousand times, yes.  
"Sure, that would be great." He glanced around and located a chair, sitting himself next to her as she carefully tore the savoury in half, putting his on top of the bag so he could use it as a plate. "Don't want to get grease on your suit, right?" She teased gently, wrapping her share in a napkin before taking a huge bite. "God, " she mumbled through her mouthful, "this is so good..." Her eyes dropped closed as she chewed, the rapture of a hungry woman getting what she wanted.

He was transfixed, speechless, again.

Aeons passed before he heard her say "Aren't you hungry?"and with a jolt realised he'd been gazing at her, his food sitting forgotten in his hand and his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. She peered at him. "Arthur, are you alright?"

( _Oh crap, now or never, now or never_ ) "Ariadne," He covered himself by taking a sip of his coffee and placing his food carefully on her work table ( _it's come to my attention-I've seen you naked-god, I want you_ ), "before you worked with us, did you ever, I mean, did you do anything else to earn money?"  
She stopped eating. "Like what?"  
"Was there ever a time when...you needed funds and you..." He trailed off stupidly, the images roaring in his mind ( _Was that a real blueprint- your breasts are perfect- I'm going to murder the asshole who took those photographs_ )  
"What are you talking about?" She frowned again. "Like, did I ever waitress or work in the college library?"  
He shifted uncomfortably. "No, I mean...have you ever done any modelling?" The words fell out in a rush.

She blanched. "Oh god," it came in a whisper, "you've found them. I should have known you would. Oh god, oh god, no." The end of the pastry fell in her lap as she covered her face suddenly with both hands. Arthur felt himself squirm, torn by a huge urge to comfort her or to maintain his usual poise ( _Eames found them-you're beautiful-tell me you weren't forced_ ) "It's OK, look..."

"I did it because I needed the money in hurry, OK?" Her voice was high and loud, her hands falling back into her lap and her chin rising defiantly. "There was this guy one of my friends knew, she'd posed for him and said he wasn't a creep, he didn't try anything and he paid her properly. I needed to pay my rent, my tuition was due and my mom," the word cracked ever so slightly, "couldn't wire it to me in time. So I did it, alright? I took my clothes off for money." She stood up, the forgotten food landing at her feet and her mouth in an angry pinch, "I made a profit from other people's need to whack off, from my body being desirable and powerful and all those things, OK? So if you are going to sit there and tell me I shouldn't have or that you're firing me because I did or that I'm giving you all a bad reputation then you're a fucking hypocrite, Arthur." One finger jabbed him in the chest. "If you can tell me that what you've done for money in the past has all been honourable or that it's all been motivated by goddamn philanthropy, then you can sit in judgement on me, understand?"

"Calm down, I wasn't going to,I mean I'm not...,"  
"I don't care!" She grabbed her coat and bag, "I'm leaving, right now. Don't try and call me, don't come to my apartment and don't follow me." The words were spat in his face as he opened and closed his mouth, no sound coming out in the onslaught of her fury. "Ariadne," he managed to her retreating back, her angry footsteps, "Ariadne, wait. Just listen to me, would you? " But the door slammed and she was gone.

"Shit," He muttered to himself, putting his coffee down on her worktable, dropping his head into his hands. "Shit, shit, shit, shit!" ( _Well, on a scale of one to ten, that went like the apocalypse_.)

He faintly heard her voice scream "And you can fuck off too, motherfucker!" He counted to five in his head, and the door opened again.

"Dear lord, Arthur. What on earth have you done to Ariadne?" Eames' sarcasm was the last thing he needed. "Face like thunder, tongue like a rasp; plus she nearly gave me the first black eye I've had in six months and all I did was ask if she was OK." He meandered over, hands in his pockets. "Oh please don't tell me you asked her about the magazine in your famously blunt fashion. I said talk to her, not conduct an interrogation."  
"I did not interrogate her. I simply asked..."  
"..if she'd done some nudie shots? Got her tits oot for the lads? Shaken her money maker?"  
"No." He bit the word off sharply. "I asked her what she did for money before she worked with us."   
"And?" Eames leant against Ariadne's drawing board, the picture of _'laid back, casual forger gloats over colleague'_.  
"She lost her temper."  
"I can see that, darling. Where's she gone?"  
"Home, I think." Arthur sighed and raked his hair back in frustration. "She thought I was going to fire her."  
"How did she get that impression?" Eames picked up Arthur's half croissant and regarded it appraisingly before taking a bite.  
"Not from me!"  
"Bloody hell, Arthur. Then from where?"  
"I think she was embarrassed and just...overreacted."

Eames looked down at him with an almost pitying look on his face. "What are you going to do about it then?"  
"She told me not to call her or to visit her apartment." The point man picked up his coffee cup and twirled it in his hand, wishing that the answer lay in it's cloudy depths. "I don't know if she'll come back at all." The forger sighed this time.  
"Then we just have to wait then, don't we? I'd say talk to her again, but since you made such an outrageous fuck up of it the first time..."

"No." Arthur looked up, his tone firm.  
"No? No what? No, you're not going to wait? No, you didn't fuck it up? No, you're going to talk to her?"  
"I'm not going to sit and wait." Arthur got up suddenly, strode across the room and started to throw his work into his attaché case.  
"Surely you're not going to try and talk to her while she's in a snit, are you?"  
"No. I'm going to Brussels. I'll be back in a couple of days." He pulled on his trench coat. "Tell Cobb I'll call him." He swept past Eames in a rush of gaberdine and tight lines. "Arthur!" He heard him call, "Arthur! What the hell is in Brussels?"  
"The cause of all this trouble." He threw over his shoulder, letting the warehouse door swing shut after him.

~*~

The high speed train took a mercifully short one and a half hours to take him from the Gare du Nord to Bruxelles-Midi, but it was still ample time for him to uncover plenty about the publisher and website maintainer of _**College Cuties!**_

Arthur had been half expecting to find himself locating a middle aged half criminal with a penchant for kerb crawling, tax avoidance, whisky and contraband cigars, so when he found himself staring at a young, thirty something professional with immaculate records, no criminal history and a degree in media and communications he was a little disconcerted. A douche bag he could easily terrorise, since they were mostly concerned with saving their own skins. But this man, sharp, clean cut and (eyebrow raisingly to Arthur) by all accounts an open and comfortable homosexual, someone so unlikely to be getting high on his own supply, what could his lever be? A desire to manipulate people? Power and influence? Or could it simply be money?

He sat back, tucked his hands behind his head and allowed his mind to navigate the question as he sped  north east. He needed the answer and in no short amount of time.  
\---  
Simon Claes, publisher, interactive content provider and (though he was loathe to call himself it, even in the privacy of his own head) pornographer, tried not to appear too surprised when he unlocked the door of his office in the northern quarter to find the alarm system switched off and a well dressed, dark haired man sitting behind his desk. He wore a black trench coat and in his hands, which Simon couldn't help noting were covered in matching black leather gloves, was an open copy of _**College Cuties!**_

 ** _"_** You know," the man said in American accented English, not looking up from his perusal, "I've never really seen the appeal of things like this. Does it sell well?"

Simon hesitated in the doorway, trying not to look ruffled. He'd dealt with any number of angry boyfriends, fathers, even pimps, in his time but they tended not to make themselves so at home. Their usual mode of attack was in public, fuelled by beer or vodka and with a bat of some description to hand. But this? This was not the typical gentleman caller. Handsome, in a hard way, defiantly relaxed in his office chair and wearing clothes that even his casual glance could price at well over the thousand Euro mark. He clutched his cell phone where it sat in his jacket pocket and mentally recalled where he'd stashed his three cans of mace.

"Moderately." He forced himself to reply in a deliberately casual voice, strolling carefully towards the desk. "The website has helped improve it's profile but I produce more successful titles. Still, there remains a market for the amateurs. Some enjoy the fresh innocent over the seasoned professional. How else can I help you, Monsieur....?"

The man dropped the magazine casually on the blotter in front of him and carried on. "And what kind of fees do you have to pay? I imagine that an amateur is unlikely to expect the same fee as a more experienced lady, yes?"

"It can range from one hundred to maybe nine or even a thousand Euros. Are you perhaps interested in modelling for us? We have a number of titles intended for gentlemen, I can give you the card of my usual photographer and perhaps..."

"And what about this lady? Do you recall what kind of fee she earned?" He turned the magazine around to reveal a small, dark haired woman holding a blueprint and fixed him with look so intense he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Simon swallowed then frowned, pride in his professional standards overtaking the more natural caution that was pulling at his brain. "Her? She's the one from the Ecole Nationale Superieure D'architecture de Paris, isn't she? I remember her. She was so nervous she nearly fell down twice." He laughed, then realised the man hadn't moved, so he hurried on. "She got nine hundred, I wanted to give her eight but she insisted she wouldn't do it for less. She isn't a professional, so if you were looking to book her..."

"No." The young man opened his coat and produced a wallet, then with meticulous care counted nine hundred Euro notes onto the blotter. "Here's what I want. You're going to give me everything from that shoot. Negatives, contact sheets, unused shots, any copies, the print run proofs and finals and when you've done that we're going to go through all the back copies of your magazine," the word contained the merest drop of venom, "and remove, shred then incinerate all of her photos. You're also going to put any of her images that you have stored digitally onto the memory stick I've brought with me, then you're going to remove her image from your website, it's servers and any other storage that you're using."

Simon smiled and started to shake his head "Monsieur, I cannot possibly do that. She signed a release permitting me to take and use her image..."

The man moved so quickly he barely saw it. One minute he was lounging behind the desk, the next he was so close Simon could smell his cologne, the rich fabric and the faint metallic tang of the gun, the silencer pressing into his forehead like a full stop. "I'm sorry," the man's voice stayed impassive, "did you say you can't do that? I presume that you enjoy breathing, and in the interests of you continuing to do so I suggest you review precisely what might or might not be possible at this stage."

His heart raced in his ears. "Monsieur, please. I am merely saying that she knew what would happen and she was paid..."

The safety clicked back under the man's thumb. "Do you know, I've heard generals, pimps, human traffickers, even politicians say that? _"They knew what they were getting into. They got paid._ " It doesn't sound any better coming from you. So let me reiterate-I am returning her fee to you and in exchange you are going to give me everything, every last bit of her, that you have in your possession.Is that clear?"

Simon nodded, his eyes screwed tightly closed. "Please, put the gun away. I'll cooperate."   
The man lowered his weapon carefully, "I would advise you not to decide to do anything heroic. I'm an excellent shot and I am more than adept at ensuring I leave no trace of myself behind. If you were to decide to try and run, for instance, it would be no more than a few minutes work for me to ensure that your death appears to be no more than suicide. Do you understand?" 

Simon nodded again and he carefully tucked gun away. "Take the money." He instructed, and the publisher scooped up the notes in his shaky fingers. "Now, lets start with the website, shall we?" He dropped a memory stick on the desk and extended his hand towards the computer, letting Simon take his seat. "And I would suggest you don't omit anything."  
\---


	2. Chapter 2

\---  
  
In the end the entire process took six hours. As Arthur had rightly surmised during his research, Claes' office was also the hub for the distribution of back issues. A couple of hours in front of a high speed cross cut shredder had eliminated Ariadne from Summer 2009 while he had performed his own careful check on all the other issues to ensure she hadn't made a repeat appearance later on.

Once properly motivated the young Belgian had indeed been more than happy to cooperate, ripping out her pages with something close to abandon while Arthur had stood over him silently. He had handed over every hard copy, every contact sheet; he'd even made Arthur check all the mobile hard drives in the office just to be absolutely sure all traces of Ariadne were gone. He'd then stood by placidly as, as a final insurance, Arthur had installed the bespoke virus he'd brought from a contact in Mumbai. It would ensure that any attempt to restore her photograph onto Claes' network would not only fail but also it would reformat the drives of any computer holding it. Since by now it would also be neatly infecting everyone who used College Cuties! site, anyone who had her image saved would shortly find an rather interesting gap where it had been. And once it was out there, floating around the internet like the common cold, it was only a matter of time before she vanished completely. Perhaps the man had been attempting to impress; _look what a good boy I am, doing just what you say! Please don't hurt me!_ Or perhaps he'd simply realised that Arthur had found and removed his mace stash long before he had arrived.

The point man rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. He had honestly hoped he wouldn't have to use his gun except as a last resort, but seeing Claes laugh at Ariadne's discomfort, no matter how innocently, had made the white wave of anger he had first felt three days ago in the workshop flood back over him. She had been nervous and stubborn. He could imagine her voice knifing through the air, insisting she was paid her worth. It was a mixture he had seen in her before, but the thought of her so exposed while she held her ground had unlocked his own fury. No one should be allowed to see her like that. And now no one would, except for whomever she chose to undress for in the future.

He had left the Belgian behind, warning him that he would be keeping up with him. On the way back to his hotel he paused only to throw the bag of shredded paper into a waste incineration bin. As the match flared between his fingers he thought only of her face, angry, pale and pinched. And when it ignited the scraps, the flames shooting up in a column of sparks, he hoped that this would be the last the rest of the world saw of her modelling career.

Now he stood in his hotel room, methodically packing his case to catch the last train back to Paris. A cup of coffee sat forgotten on the night table as he folded his clothes, tucked in his shaving bag and finally the folder of papers Claes had handed him. All that remained was the final whole copy of _**College Cuties!**_ Summer 2009 lying on top of the comforter, with Miss Cover Star still beaming her brainz out.

Claes had asked him cautiously at one point if he was Ariadne's partner, or perhaps her brother, to which he had replied sharply "Does it matter?" But sitting on the bed, finishing his coffee and holding the magazine in his hand he almost wished he could say "Yes, I am her lover. And only I have the privilege of seeing her the way this picture shows." Perhaps then he might feel less guilty for opening the magazine to her photos and staring at her like he had the first time, letting himself dwell on every tiny detail of her lush form. Perhaps then he wouldn't have had such a bitter aftertaste to his arousal as he let it finally seep through him, without Eames' presence to inhibit it from running its course.  
And perhaps then he wouldn't have felt so unsatisfied as he gripped his painfully hard cock, masturbating himself to a climax with her in his head, his shirt pulled up, pants bunched around his knees and a wad of tissues in his hand; the comforter rumpled underneath him as he let her name go desperately into the empty room, his own warmth spilling in drops onto his stomach.

~*~

He had called Cobb from the train, reassuring him he was returning to resume work and would be in the workshop tomorrow afternoon. He hadn't dared ask about Ariadne, despite desperately wanting to, but he had heard Eames in the background, an indistinct grumble of "So the silly fucker's coming back? Thank God. Did he kill anyone?" Cobb had refrained from asking for details of him little sojourn, restricting himself to asking if he'd left things tidy ( _yes_ ), was he OK ( _yes_ ) and did they need to handle anything there ( _no_ ), finishing up by adding he was looking forward to seeing him the next day.

After hanging up Arthur had regarded his image in the dark glass, the countryside of Europe whipping past him unseen beyond it, and silently blessed the other man for knowing him so well. He tried to nap then, but sleep eluded him, his thoughts endlessly examining how best to give Ariadne her photos back without embarrassing or enraging her all over again. Hoping that she wouldn't imagine he saw her as weak or in need of protection by having done as he had. Wondering if she would perhaps agree to share her lunch with him again ( _such an adolescent thing to wish for, that the pretty girl you like will split her sandwich and soda so you can sit with her, he sneered back at himself. What are you, fourteen? You've taken dates to five star restaurants, hotels so private they don't advertise, sent flowers of insulting expense and your heart races at the thought of half a Swiss cheese on wholemeal and some coke zero?_ **But,** he replied, **those women expected those things. They don't impress her. She didn't care that much who sewed my shirts or made my coffee table. She cared about me, what I thought, what I had done and could do; she cares about conversation and the abstract and color; she cares about precision and excellence in her creations and things that make her laugh. She didn't give a damn that I wore Gucci or could get her a table at Ducasse. And I liked that.** )

"Don't let me have fucked it up even more." He said softly to the figure in the window, but his reflection didn't reply.  
\---  
He arrived in Paris at 1am. The taxi driver from the Gare du Nord had attempted to make small talk until Arthur's curt replies had eventually silenced him, pulling up to his apartment building in record time and screeching off without waiting for a tip. On any other day Arthur might have berated himself for his lack of courtesy, but now he was simply tired, cold and thinking only of his own bed.

He slipped quietly up the stairs, fumbling with his keys. Perhaps tomorrow he would send Ariadne a note asking her to meet with him, talk her round a little, get her back on the team and apologise for being so indelicate. Hopefully she would be reasonable enough to see he hadn't set out to offend her. He unlocked the mortice and went to unlock the bolt, only to find the key sprang back under his fingers. Wonderful, a late night caller. Just what he needed right now.

He dropped his keys back in his pocket and slipped out his sidearm. Keeping his case in his hand he cautiously twisted the handle and let the door swing back silently. The hallway was empty, the alarm system set to normal, but the lights were on, casting a warm golden glow over the framed pictures and glossy wood floor. He dropped his case inside and carefully, quietly shut the door behind him, slipping the bolt on with the barest snick. He kept his gun high as he crept cautiously down the hall, listening for the tell tale rustles, coughs or rasps of another human being hidden in one of the adjacent rooms. However a rapid examination proved each one proved to be dark, empty and neat as he had left it.

Finally he reached the door to the living area at the very end. It was slightly ajar and beyond it he could see the lamps had been turned on, flooding the room with soft light. Taking a final deep breath he braced his gun in both hands, pushed the door with his shoulder and swept in, his sense of self preservation kicking in long enough to level the weapon at the human being standing in the middle of the room.

Ariadne. Her face slightly stunned, lips parted and softly glossy in the rich light. Eyes huge and dark. Her hair curling gently on her shoulders.

"Surprise?" She said nervously.

And then he looked at her, his adrenaline loaded system finally calming enough to let him lower his gun and see that she... _Oh fuck,_ he yelled to himself, _Oh my...fuck._

She was naked. Wonderfully, beautifully naked and standing slap bang in the middle of his living room. An ocean of creamy skin glowing under the lamps. Bare, beautiful breasts with their crimson nipples, her chest tinted with the faintest blush. Fine boned arms, shoulders, ribs and hips, the soft curves of her stomach and thighs. The blueprint, which he vaguely recognised as the level she had been about to show him all those days ago, clutched over her pelvis. Calves covered in white knee socks and tiny delicate feet shoved into patent stilettos. _She was...she had...  
_  
"How did you get in here?" He finally managed to make his mouth work, unable to tear his eyes from her glorious self.

"I picked the lock. I've learned a few things from hanging around with you guys." She shifted anxiously from foot to foot, managing a sneaky smile. "And the alarm code is your birthday."

"I could have shot you." The horror of that thought stunned him. He could have, tired as he was, pulled the trigger just a millisecond sooner, a picosecond before his visual centre stopped seeing a threat and saw her instead.

The smile died. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I thought...Well, Eames told Cobb, and he made him tell me. We found some of your notes, did some research of our own. Then this morning the photos," she winced slightly, "vanished from the website, later they went from Eames' hard drive and we put two and two together. Eames thought you might have shot him and trashed the office, but Cobb said there was no way you would be so unsophisticated. It was you, right? Did you kill him?"

Arthur holstered his gun, resisting the urge to let his shoulders drop with exhaustion. "Yes, it was me. And no, I didn't kill him. He's very much alive."  
"What did you do?" He noticed the fingers holding the blueprint had wrinkled it they were holding so tight.  
"I, " he let his next words come carefully, "I paid him back the money he gave you. I threatened him. Then I made him give me every image he had with you in it. It's all yours now. No one has to see them but the people you choose."

"Did you see them?" She asked softly.  
His throat closed, his heart too loud inside his chest, his skin prickling with arousal. "Yes." He managed.  
"And...did you like them?"

He looked at her, every part of her ripped from the pages of a dirty magazine and dropped right into his living room, from her artfully tousled hair to those horrific shoes. She had taken a risk, risking that he might be repulsed by what she had done rather than aroused, horrified at finding her here naked rather than flattered, rejecting rather than accepting her. But still, she had done it for him.

He very, very cautiously closed the space between them, not stopping until he was close enough to be touching her. In a moment of awful clarity it struck him that he was still in his overcoat and gloves while she was only three small steps from being completely nude, a disparity that might have been funny were it not for the fact that she was so serious, so all encompassingly lovely as she stood before him. He put one hand out and gently cupped her cheek. Her eyes stared into his, the layer of make up she had put on failing to distract from their rich darkness. One of them was trembling ever so slightly, and for the life of him he couldn't tell who.

"Yes." His voice feeling rough and uneven. "Yes, I liked them very, very much."  
She reached up, copying his gesture and said gently "Kiss me?" He leant down, letting their foreheads then their noses meet, mouths just a hairs breadth apart.  
"I've been outside. I'm cold."  
"But I've been in here and I'm warm." She countered to his smile, and pressed her mouth to his in a hot rush of breath, her body into his with a crinkle of paper as the blueprint stuck between them, her free hand reaching up to bring his head down to hers while his combed through her hair and down her back, pulling her against him as he went. She was warm, moulding herself to him, making every nerve flare until he was flame, burning against her with bright urgency.

"You're overdressed." She grinned when he let her mouth go. "How many layers have you got on?"  
"Four." He leant back into her, relishing her lips and tongue as she caught one hand, pulling off his glove and dropping it on the couch. He offered her the other, working each finger free so she could take it, then grabbing at her, feeling her skin under his palms and discovering she was just as soft, just as sensitive as he had hoped. Each curve yielded a purr of delight, a purr that became a moan when he finally, finally cupped her breasts. "Oh god, they are a perfect fit," he murmured as they sat hot and heavy in his palms, letting his thumbs slide agonisingly slowly over each hardened nipple before letting his mouth kiss each one. "They're perfect." He repeated, returning to her mouth, her neck, her face, letting her sigh happily into him as she pushed, pulled and tugged away his trench coat until it landed next to his gloves.

"One," she said, then started to carefully unbutton his jacket, making him let go of her so she could remove it. He shrugged off his holster at the same time, then pulled her back to him as she unknotted his tie, letting the forgotten blueprint crumple between their bodies as he nipped her right earlobe. "Don't distract me," the chiding was half hearted as she pulled the silk from around his neck with a hiss.

"Two," she smiled and started to unbutton and untuck his shirt, kissing his neck and down to the exposed skin above the neckline of his undershirt. She kissed his palms as she undid his cuffs then pushed the garment off him. Stopping to admire her handiwork for a second she let her hands trace over his chest and shoulders, a featherlight touch that even through his remaining clothes made him push against her urgently. "God, you have such amazing arms." The words came out in a sigh as she started to unbuckle his belt, pulling it free then unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. "You have to let me go for a second, OK?" He kissed her, reluctant to do so, until she whispered "Arthur, I am never going to get you naked if you don't. Just for a minute. I'll be right back." Their next kiss lingered, his arms ( _his amazing arms,_ he thought with so much pride it nearly floored him) tightening around her, more skin in contact making him hungry to keep her close. "Come on, just for a little bit." As he relaxed his hold she slipped down to the floor, her body only leaving his at the last moment.

She unlaced each shoe, then tapped each ankle in turn until he lifted his foot, slipping off his socks after she removed his footwear and tracing the arches of his feet with her fingertips. "Big feet, big hands; is what they say true?" She grinned up at him, her hands sliding up his legs to his waistband. Her mouth pressed a kiss into his navel as she pulled downwards, letting the fabric fall in a heap at his feet. She let him step out, then added his pants to the pile on the couch.

"Three," she clutched the blueprint to her as she stood back up, pausing only to sprinkle kisses over his cock where it was still covered in a layer of fabric. His breath hitched and stuck in his chest, a groan only coming when she replaced her lips with her free hand, sliding carefully over him. "I see that it is." She grinned as he grabbed her back to him, "I think you'll find everything is in proportion." He replied, pulling her hips into his and cursing that damned blueprint even though she pushed back as if they were already skin to skin.

She began to pull up his undershirt with urgent fingers, her hums and sighs of pleasure getting deeper, when he surprised them both by catching her hand and stopping her. "Wait, " Her frown was more puzzled than hurt. "We're not going to make love for the first time in here. I have a bed. It's comfortable and it's warm and you deserve to be treated properly."  
"But..."  
"No. You're not a whore and I'm not going to throw you over the arm of the couch and bang you like one."  
"Even if I want you to?" The cheeky grin resurfaced.  
"Maybe later, if that's what you really want. This time," He started to lead her slowly across the floor into the hallway, mindful of the tiny Geisha steps her footwear was forcing, "I am going to take you into my bedroom, I am going to take off those vile shoes, those socks, all the make up that you really don't need; I'm going to throw that fucking blueprint away and I am going to show you just how little you need that kind of thing to be beautiful to me and to make me want you so badly I nearly ruined three pairs of pants in as many days."

"Three pairs?" Her smile broadened "Wow. You really like the photos, huh?"  
He snapped the light on in his bedroom and picked her up off the floor to cover the last few feet, ignoring her slight yelp of protest. "Yes. I absolutely, " He sat her on the bed and knelt at her feet, "fucking loved them. But," one hand cupped each ankle gently, "I hate these shoes more than you can possibly imagine."  
"Take them off me then." She lifted her feet , wriggling them in thin air, allowing him to pull each one away and toss first one shoe then the other into the hall with a satisfying thunk. "Throw them away." He kissed the top of her left foot, then started to carefully pull down her sock, his mouth pressing a path from her knee down her leg. "You don't wear shit like that. It makes you look cheap," he dragged the material past her ankle and over her heel, "You're not cheap." Finally her toes popped free,to reveal delightful deep scarlet nails. "Are you trying to kill me?" He raised one eyebrow at her, holding her small, neat foot in both hands, the color blazing against her skin. Her answer was a gurgle of laughter that got swallowed in a groan as he kissed each toe, nipping the pads with his teeth. "Nice?" He asked her, taking her heavy lidded face as an answer before letting her foot go and repeating the achingly slow pull and kiss on her other sock clad leg, lavishing equal attention on each small toe while she sighed above him.

 _Now, what next? Oh yes._ He let go of her much improved feet and took the edge of the blueprint that she was still clutching protectively in her lap. "Do you have a copy of this?"  
"Yeah. It's..." Ariadne started to reply, but he had the answer he wanted and wasn't prepared to sit about talking about work when he had the woman he had spent the last few months wanting nearly naked on his bed.

"Excellent." he pulled it from her fingers, screwed it impatiently up into a ball and threw it after her shoes, leaving her sprawled totally naked over the comforter. At last, he sighed to himself, sliding his hands up the inside of her thighs pushing them gently apart, at last at last at last...He dipped his head into her lap, pressing more kisses over the skin, moving closer and closer until he reached her pussy.  
"May I?" He looked up at her, staring down at him with her pupils blown huge and black. "Yes," she rested one hand on his head as he spread her open with his thumbs, the deep pink flesh glistening as it was revealed, "Oh please, yes..." she whispered, her hand tightening as he let the tip of his tongue draw a line from the opening, swirl around her clit which hardened with every stroke then back down again, dipping inside her before he carried on; flattening his tongue out to better taste her, a tangy sweetness that carried a grain of salt as it slipped into his mouth. Her hips canted forwards in response, pressing into his face as she started to pant, short hot little breaths that made his blood crash round his body, surging through his heart and into his cock with terrific urgency. He let himself take one, last lingering lick before he lifted his head, letting go of her to yank his undershirt off and slide himself over her until they were mouth to mouth again. Her kisses were demanding, hungry as if the taste of herself was as arousing for her as it had been for him.

"Arthur," she keened impatiently between kisses, pulling his hair none to gently. "Oh, god, Arthur. I want you. Please, I want you."  
"Ariadne," his hands found her breasts and started to stroke her nipples into hardness, "I've got to get that crap off your face first." Her hands slipped under the waistband of his underwear and wrapped around his cock.  
"Does it matter that much?" She asked, her voice thick with desire as she pumped him carefully.  
"Don't distract me." He nipped her bottom lip. "I said it comes off, it comes off. You don't need it." She silenced him with her next kiss, letting it carry on, deepening into a mess of mouths and greedy hands as they melded together. "Stop trying to put me off." He muttered as he broke away , running his tongue around the curve of her ear, letting his teeth worry the lobe. "Unless you want me to spank you for being disobedient, of course." She twisted against him with an overexcited mew, the dampness of her arousal seeping into the cotton of his briefs, "Jesus, Ariadne..." His voice felt scraped raw as she continued to press into him. "No, no, no," He grabbed her hands and pinned her to the bed, desperately grabbing at the threads of his own self control, "The make up. Off." She pouted slightly and he couldn't help noticing with a small smile of satisfaction how bruised her lips looked when she did.  
"There's some wipes in my bag. In the corner. You don't think I came here naked, do you?" She answered his perplexed look with sultry little smirk that she punctuated with a kiss.

"Stay there." He dragged himself off her, letting her sit up to keep planting small, soft kisses on his mouth as he moved away. "Close your eyes." He ordered, then after a short pause, smoothed the damp cloth over her forehead, down her cheeks, neck , across her lips and lastly, carefully over each eyelid. "How much of this are you wearing?" He said, half to himself. "The usual amount," She replied, "foundation, concealer, blush, eye colour, khol, mascara, lip pencil..."  
"I don't actually care." He dropped the wipe on the floor, satisfied it was all gone and tilting her chin up with his fingers. "Look at me: You don't need it." His kiss was gentle. "And you taste nicer without it. Now, come here." His arms wrapped around her, shoving her back into the bed as she growled into his mouth.

He finally let her yank his briefs down his thighs until he kicked and wriggled them away. "Four," she mouthed over his right nipple, then ground into him with joyful abandon: They were at last both naked, skin to skin, hands everywhere, mouths everywhere in a dizzying tumble of limbs, sighs and sensations. She wriggled down to taste him as he had tasted her, letting her tongue steal the pearl of pre come she teased from the slit as he half shouted for her. He suckled each breast until she was scratching his shoulders, then nibbled each nipple until they rose up under his lips, filigree textured and hard as he was. Her tongue grazed over his ribs, nipping love bites into his collar bones and lapping over his chest to taunt the tiny nipples. He pulled her hair up in his hands so he could ravage her neck. She kissed her way up his spine, her hands massaging his ass while she made a noise of appreciation "You," she rasped hotly in his ear, "have amazing arms, a fucking incredible body, you're so sexy you make me all but come just by hearing you talk, you're brilliant and charming but your ass..." she squeezed until he moaned, "...your ass, in one of those damn pairs of tailored pants? Are you trying to kill me?"  
"Sorry. Oh god, keep doing that..." She reached round and started to stroke his cock again before she replied.  
"Nuh huh, don't be sorry. Do you wear them so people will look? So I'll look? So I'll want to get you alone, take them off you and then ride you over your desk until we're both screaming? Or suck you off while you're working, writing notes, trying to talk normally to people while all the time my mouth is wrapped around your cock? Think about that next time you see me looking at you in the workshop. Think about me on my knees, my hands on your backside, pulling you into my mouth..."

He rolled away from her, the sensation suddenly too much, pulling her into him so they were face to face. "What about you then?"  
"Me?" Her look was wide eyed and innocent, melting into a groan as he palmed her breasts.  
"Yes, you. Do you think I haven't noticed when you wander around in those fucking jersey shirts with no bra underneath. How the hell am I supposed to concentrate when you do that? When all I want to do is rip the fucking thing off you and lick your breasts? And when you wear those skinny jeans, bending over your work table with your ass in the air?" He let one hand grab her behind, then slap it firmly enough that she writhed at the contact, "You make me want to do some terrible things to you when you act like that, parading around in front of everyone. Or is it just for me?"  
She groaned again as he thrust his hips into her. "Just you," she groaned again, "it's just for you." He swallowed the words with a kiss.  
"Next time you dress like that," he panted, his hips pushing back more urgently than ever, "next time remember that I am looking and thinking about us, like this."  
"Oh god, Arthur," her hips rising to meet his, "I can't wait, I can't..." She pushed him flat on his back into the bed, the momentum taking her over so she was spread across him then pushing herself up so she was straddling his thighs.  
"Now?" She wrapped her hand around him, hot and firm.  
"Now. Please Ariadne, please." He reached out and took hold of her waist as she rose up, tilted herself forwards then guided him inside her. She sank down, a liquid velvet fist around him, knocking the air out of his lungs as she let him urge her onwards.

Her eyes closed and her head lolled back when they were finally joined. "I need a second, just a second." She said softly.  
"Am I hurting you?" He instantly felt a twinge of guilt.  
"No, shit no. It's just..." Her hips shifted gently and she blushed a pure, perfect pink. "You're a bit...bigger than I'm used to." He urged her down to him, finding her mouth and kissing her, letting his hands smooth over her back, up her chest and down her arms as he feathered more kisses over her mouth and cheeks. "Take your time. We're not in a hurry."  
"You feel good..." she whispered against his mouth, "You feel really, really good inside me." The quiet words made him push against her involuntarily, and she tightened around him in response. "Do that again." She sighed, resting her forehead on his, "like that." And he rolled upwards, relishing the quiet gasp and squeeze it produced. "Is it good?" He heard her ask, her own hips pressing down this time. "Yes, I like that." He encouraged, "Don't stop, Ariadne. Don't stop."

Each motion of her body became a little stronger than the last as he kept crooning "Don't stop. I like that." She was slick and hot around him, her hair enclosing them under a dark curtain of swaying waves as she moved, their mouths meeting and releasing in time to her thrusts. He let his hands linger over her breasts ( _perfect, they're perfect_ ), straying back to her waist to keep their rhythm before returning to her chest. "I want to sit up." He heard her breathe, "Would you like that?"  
"Yes," he interrupted with a kiss, "Yes, I would like that. I'll be able to see you," another kiss, "and you're beautiful." Her smile was electrifying in response. She leant back, her body straightening as her hips came up, and there she was. Her skin soft with sweat, warmed to a sexual glow. Her hair properly tousled by his hands, her lips plump from their kisses, her eyes dark with desire. Better than any photo had promised, touchable, arousing and his. Coming down over him again, rising and falling as he came up to meet her, his hands on her as she let herself move more urgently, faster than before, pulling him down with her.

"Touch me," she gasped and pulled one of his hands from her waist, pressing his fingers over her clit. "There," she pleaded, her fingers pushing against his in a never ending loop, "like that, please. Oh, Arthur, that's incredible..." Her hips plunged down, her body clenching and releasing around him as he let go and thrust against her, his body tightening in response.  
"I'm going to...Ariadne, I want to...oh, Ariadne." He summoned his last coherent thought and let his fingers frig her in one final, rapid circle. Just in time to see her to thrust forward, hips, breasts and torso in that curve he'd been longing for, her pussy a tight fist around him as she threw her head back and half gasped his name. A rush of her coated him and spread between their bodies as he managed two more rapid, desperate strokes and came in a hot, headlong rush, his body rigid against hers as he groaned her name in a choking, breathless reply.

\---

The morning came, grey and damp, foggy light pouring over the bed. Arthur woke up to find her wrapped against him, a wonderful distracting weight across his body. Her eyelids flickered open when he moved, focusing on his face and smiling in recognition. "Good morning." He leant down and kissed her. "Would you like some coffee?" She scooted up and kissed him again in reply, wrapping her arms around him. "In a minute." The words were mumbled into his neck as he let her pull him down into the duvet. "What would you like?" He punctuated each word with a kiss on her eager mouth, "Latte? Cappuccino? Espresso? Americano?"  
"You have all of those?" She laughed.  
"I worked in Starbucks when I was in college. I can even make you a frappucino if you like." He set to work on her neck.  
"I bet you looked great in that apron."  
"I was passable. Mind you, the pay stank." She laughed again.  
"Perhaps you should have tried posing for a magazine?"  
"You forget, I'm nowhere near as lovely as you are."  
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Arthur."  
"I'm just being honest. So," he dropped a kiss on the end of her nose, "what would you like?"  
"I think," she let her hands dawdle lower, her grin wicked, "I think I'll start with the barista."

\---

Two (long, energetic) hours later he finally put a latte in her hands and dropped the folder of papers he'd got from Claes on the bed next to her along with the memory stick of digital images. "These are yours now."  
She sat propped up on the pillows, cocooned in his shirt. It was so long she'd rolled the cuffs back to fit and left it unbuttoned at the throat. As he watched she ran one finger along the edge, letting the tip catch on the unfinished card. "I don't know that I want them." Her voice was quiet. "We can destroy them if you prefer." He climbed back into the bed beside her and let her lean against him, pressing a kiss into her dark hair as she relaxed. "Or put them in a safety deposit box."

She flipped the cover back and stared at herself. "Do you know how I did it?" She sounded distant, "My friend Marie took me out for a drink beforehand and I had five shots of vodka. When I got those shoes on I nearly fell over twice."  
"He said." Arthur replied shortly, the memory acid with anger. She turned the shot over, examined the next one, flicked it over and carried on until she reached the end.  
"You weren't going to fire me, were you?"  
"No."  
"You don't think any less of me for doing it?"  
"Ariadne, as you pointed out not everything I've done for money in the past has been totally upright and blameless. Why would I think any less of you anyway?"  
She hesitated. "I'm sorry I lost my temper. I was embarrassed, which is no defence I know, but I said things..."  
"It alright. Come on." His arm around her tightened. "I don't hold it against you, none of it. Besides, " he reached over and picked the first shot up, " now I know that you and I are the only people who can look at these? They're even better than when I first saw them." She turned her head to look at him, a mock frown on her face. "What? It's you, naked. I've got a pulse after all. Look at you. You're gorgeous even with all that extraneous crap going on."

"For goodness sake." She leant over him, put her coffee on the night stand and straddled his lap. Her fingers closed around the edge of the photo and pulled it away, letting it fall on the bed. Then she started to slowly unbutton her shirt with a filthy smile. "You get a choice. You can gawp at those," she tilted her head, "or you can touch the original. Which would you prefer?"

He toppled her backwards in reply, pulling open the shirt and smothering her indignant pout in kisses, the forgotten file wrinkling underneath them.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A/N's:  
> This fic in it's entirety is dedicated to the wonderful [](http://elliesmeow.livejournal.com/profile)[**elliesmeow**](http://elliesmeow.livejournal.com/) since it's her birthday. I hope this will go some way to expressing my gratitude for all your support and praise. Thank you, sweetheart. This one is for you *hugs*   
> 
> 
>  
> 
> The title comes from the song _Centerfold_ by The J. Geils Band, for which I do not own the copyright. But then, I'm not making any money from using it so the point is a bit moot.
> 
>  
> 
> Starbucks are a coffee chain and they make coffee drinks as named. It's a homage, Seattle based Java jockeys, not a rip off. I love your work. Please don't hurt me. (There, grovel over. Now, venti soy latte with an extra shot to go, please.)


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